


Christmas was a bust, what about next year?

by naturegirlrocks



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute, M/M, Secret Santa, Tired John, happy new year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 13:23:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5587477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naturegirlrocks/pseuds/naturegirlrocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has been left in Geneva, he comes home looking for Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas was a bust, what about next year?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MyLittleCornerOfSherlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyLittleCornerOfSherlock/gifts).



> This was supposed to be a Christmas story, but time and life got away from me. Sorry for its shortness but hopefully it has sweetness.

"Sherlock?"

John looked around the living room. Nobody was there. The room was dark, only the small colourful fairy lights framing the windows were turned on. 

"I'm home!"

No response. He wasn't disappointed, he was a bit angry though. Being left behind in Geneva explaining Sherlock's behaviour and unconventional methods to both Swiss and French authorities could do that to a person. 

Especially after missing Christmas by being dragged halfway across Europe on a semi-wild goose chase of a, up until that point, theoretical killer. Their Christmas dinner had considered of Indian takeout and some day-old strudel. 

Boxing Day was spent trying to convince Swiss police that they had a serial killer on their hands. The next day was spent in jail after finding a dead body. The day after that was spent in a morgue searching the dead body for needle marks and at the medical examiner deciphering old cases written in French longhand. John had left the latter to Sherlock. 

Yesterday was a blur of hotels, streets, police stations, more strudel, bridges, ice, and pain. The pain mostly being Sherlock and located in John's head. And in his hand which he has sprained after slipping on a icy bridge while fighting the killer. A French diplomat. 

"Sherlock?"

He put down the two suitcases and took the strap of the smaller bag off his shoulder. He put that on the floor as well. The two bottles of tax-free whiskey inside it clinked together. He would need them later. 

John walked over to the kitchen. It too was empty. The table was full of laboratory equipment but all was clean and not in use. A firecracker went off in the street outside, further away some fireworks sounded like distant thunder. 

"Sherlock? I brought your things that you left me with without asking me to bring or saying goodbye or thank you!"

Sherlock had sent a text for John to find on waking. It had said _'I'm going ahead, see you at home. SH'._ As if John wouldn't have known who wrote it. 

According to the time on the text it was sent about thirty minutes before John woke. Thirty minutes head start that turned into nine hours while John packed, got picked up by police, got interrogated, explained Sherlock, ran after cabs, and argued with airport employees. 

He continued down the short corridor towards Sherlock's bedroom, opening up his coat as he went. The bathroom door was half adjacent, it was dark inside, nobody was in there. John knocked on the bedroom door. 

"Sherlock? Do you even know how hard it is to get a plane ticket between Geneva and Paris on New Years Eve? Or getting two big suitcases on the Channel train in rush hour?"

There was no answer. John opened the door and looked inside. Empty, though the bad was unmade. A blue robe was tossed haphazardly on the floor. John walked over and picked it up with a find sigh. Nothing much seemed to have changed in his absence. 

He put the robe on the hanger on the inside of the door. A whiff of lilac soap came to him from the fabric. John frowned at this. Sherlock didn't use perfumed soaps or products, it got in the way of investigations. 

Lilac was a strange choice to start with. Then he remembered the small soap Sherlock had bought in that beauty shop in Geneva under the pretence of spying on the clerk. The clerk had been a dead end, but apparently Sherlock had kept the soap. It must have been in his pocket. 

"Sherlock?" John called again. "Are you even here?"

No answer. John sighed. Why did he even bother?

He walked back into the living room, taking off his coat and hanging it on the rack. He needed a shower, but first he needed a drink. He opened the small bag and brought out one of the bottles. 

The seal of the cap cracked in a very satisfying way. 

"John?" 

The voice was coming from above, from John's bedroom. For a moment John considered not answering, but that would just be childish. 

"Here," John sighed and screwed the cap back on the bottle. 

"Bring the chocolate!"

John sighed again. He opened up Sherlock's suitcase and took out the fancy box of pralines. They had followed the French diplomat into a fancy store and Sherlock had bought the chocolate not to seem suspicious. The box had ended up in the suitcase in between neatly folded clothes. There was also some stolen hotel towels and a stuffed bear with the Swiss flag on its belly. 

"I don't know why I even bother with you," John walked up the stairs with the chocolate in one hand and the whiskey in the other. "Are you even aware you left me with an near international crisis? My school-French isn't as up to par as you may think it is."

"You did fine," said Sherlock standing at the top of the stairs.

"You ruined Christmas," John held out the chocolate. 

"You would have been bored to tears before the first cracker had been pulled," he smiled. "Also I saved you from your boring army friend's party. The one where everyone else would bring their wives and you'd be either alone or set up with a blind date."

That would have been a hassle, John admitted. And a Christmas murder mystery was actually kind of exiting. He shook his head and walked into his room. 

"You left me in Geneva with several angry policemen."

"They should be grateful," Sherlock huffed, opening up the pralines. "I bet they didn't appreciate how much you helped them. Anyway, I had to get so we could have a New Years party. I made snacks."

John saw the bottle of champagne standing on the desk. It was definitely not the tax-free kind. The whiskey paled a little next to it. The 'snacks' consisted of cheep airport peanuts, a box of liquorice allsorts, and a plate of what looked like Mrs Hudson's gingerbread cookies. Sherlock put the chocolates down as well. 

"Couldn't we done that in Geneva?"

"Yes, but London has it one hour earlier."

"What's the hurry?" 

Sherlock smiled. 

"I can't wait to spend the next year with you."

John laughed and leaned forward to kiss Sherlock's lips. He tasted of Chocolate. 

"Is that why you are naked?"

"I thought you'd never notice," he smirked. "Now go shower, you smell horrible. You can use my new soap."

John shook his head. 

Sometimes he didn't know why he bothered, at other times he knew just why. He couldn't wait to see what the next year would bring. Hopefully not as many strudels, he had had his fill for now.


End file.
